Bleeds Like Love
by MissLauraKinney
Summary: Ten Painted finger/and Ten Painted toes/ an Hour to drive/and Nobodies home. Allison Argent should never have picked out that bottle of glitter polish from the sally's by her house. Her life would be so much longer if she hadn't.


Nail polished fingers, and nail polished toes. An hour to drive, and nowhere to go/ ten painted fingers and ten painted toes. Hours to drive and nowhere to go./nobodies home.

Allison was five the first time her mother stabbed her. The first time, but certainly not the last. She hadn't deserved it. She knew she hadn't but her mom didn't know that. Didn't see that. Didn't hear her scream as the hot blade pierced her flesh. But Allison heard herself scream, and vowed to never be weak again.

Allison was ten when her family moved to Nevada. It was a hot, unfriendly place filled with scorpions and dust. But nobody knew her there, so she had a chance to start over. A chance that she lost when they moved again to Michigan. A chance that was taken from her when they moved away to Canada. A chance that she never really had as they moved for the sixth time that year. The night her parents told her they were leaving Kansas was the last time she cried. She heard herself sob, and vowed never to be lied to again.

Allison wished she could trade parents with Lydia. Trade lives. Live in one place. One town. Have one set of friends, one school. Have parents who bought her things because they cared, not because they left too quickly to get her old toys. But she didn't want other parents. Because she grew stronger the more they held her down, and she had vowed to never be weak again. So she closed her eyes and let her mother carve into her arm. She closed her eyes and vowed to never let herself be the victim again.

Allison looked at her pink toes on the dashboard. The first time she'd been allowed to sit in the front seat. Her mother said they were leaving, but Allison knew the truth. They were running. Her mother wouldn't tell her from what, just said she wasn't old enough to understand. But Allison didn't know if she'd ever be old enough to understand. Every family has its' business, and the Argents was secrets. Secrets that Allison was scared of, because they always seemed to have something to do with her, with why they moved. With why her mother used her body as a cutting board. But Allison didn't want to be ungrateful. So she clenched her fists and swore to never be scared again.

Running was different than hiding. Allison knew because she'd done both. She had spent her entire life being somebody else, for someone new. For what purpose, she didn't know. What she did know was that moving to California to see her Aunt was a lie. But that didn't surprise her. Nearly everything her parents said was a lie. But Allison knew she would see through it from now on. Because she was something her parents weren't. Alone. So Allison kept her worries to herself, and packed her suitcase. She knew she'd never be kept in the dark again.

When Allison was sixteen she was told they were going to California to see Aunt Kate. Aunt Kate who was nicer to Allison than her own mother. But Aunt Kate was not how she remembered. She was volatile and sexual, leering openly at men ten years younger than her. Kate was still funny, but funny in an uncomfortable way that made Allison want to put a sweater on, a way that made her feel naked. So Allison plastered on a smile and told herself she wasn't a child anymore.

Allison painted her fingers in bright colors. Bright colors tell people you are okay, and that's what she wanted to believe. If everyone else believed it, it would be so much easier to believe it herself. That was the thought that got her through countless early-morning training sessions, the thought that saved her when she thought she would drown. But she fought on. And swore to herself to never let anyone she see wasn't okay.

Allison was seventeen when she let Scott see. When she let down her defenses for someone for the first time in years. It was a decision she didn't regret. She loved Scott, she trusted him. He was her bright nail color. Her security blanket of happiness. People saw her with goofy, puppy-like Scott, and thought, how on earth could she _not_ be okay? Look at them together! But still she swore she would never let someone else close enough to her to really hurt her.

Allison was a sophomore in high school when she realized it was too late. When she realized that Scott was already buried too far into who she was for her to be able to let him go without a mess. Sometimes she had trouble distinguishing between the parts of her that were hers, and that parts that were him. She lets herself slip one day. It was prom night, a night she was supposed to remember forever. And she would, but not for any reason she could ever share. Her hair was up in an elegant twist, her dress a pale silver. Her nails were painted the darkest berry, darker than any color she'd ever worn, and she could see Scott terrorizing other students. Still, she couldn't fight the feeling in the pit of her stomach that nothing would ever be the same after this night.

It wasn't. The same. Or okay. She didn't think she'd be okay for a very long time. She had been packed up and moved, too many times to count, but this time was different. This time she felt like she was losing a piece of herself. There was a hole in her heart shaped like her furry boyfriend. A boyfriend who neglected to mention just how supernatural he was. Her mother had thrown her in the car without an explanation, expecting her to be okay with it, expecting she wouldn't ask questions. And she didn't. because she was Allison, and Allison knew to keep her mouth shut and follow along. She woke up the next morning in Eugene. The motel bed around her covered in gel polish flakes and ragged chewed off nails. Nails that symbolized everything she tried to be, and everything she tried not to be.

Her fingers stayed bare for the next year. She ignored hangnails, she ignored the need to file, or trim. She tried to act like they didn't exist. Until the fateful day she was cleaning out under her dresser, and saw a bottle of crimson red, red like blood, rolling on its' side. The desire to cover the ugly parts of herself in something beautiful was overwhelming. And what part was more ugly then her woe-begotten nails? So she slathered the color on, and left to find her best friend.

She found her best friend. But she lost everything else. Lying on the ground, shuddering gasps all that escaped her lips, she wished she weren't weak, she wished she hadn't been lied to; she wished she weren't a victim, or so damn scared. She wished she had the breath to tell her one true love to save her, she wished she could make out the words asking _help me, please_. But she stayed silent. She ached all over, but told Scott it was nothing. Pain and Allison had come to a sort of understanding years ago. She clutched his hand, and tried to express her love. But it wasn't easy to form words through a mouthful of blood. One last shuddering gasp and she knew that it was over. She knew she couldn't keep pretending all she was covering were nails. What she was trying to do was cover her flaws. Cover her weaknesses. But all she had really done was lead people to believe she was fearless. And not so easily broken. Her painted hand hit the ground, the red of the blood mingled with the red of the polish, the meaning more symbolic than anything. 'Tell him, tell my dad! You have to tell him—' _I love him._ But the words never came.


End file.
